


This Ain't a Fairytale

by kjack89



Series: The Story of Us (Fairytale AU) [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crack, Established Relationship, Fighting, Knights - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2671829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our story ends, but Enjolras and Grantaire find that happy endings leave a little bit to be desired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Ain't a Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who has read this particularly cracky AU! I tried to meld the styles of the earlier fics in this series with the later ones, which may or may not have been particularly successful, so. You know.
> 
> As per always, usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Sir?” one the pages — Gavroche, Enjolras thought, though it was hard to keep all of the pages straight — said, a little nervously. “Sir, I have a message from your husband, Prince — I mean, just Grantaire.”

Enjolras’s lips quirked in a slight smile. Retraining everyone to not use honorifics when referring to those previously of the ruling class had not been an easy process thus far, nor was it likely to be complete anytime in the near future, but everyone was at least game in attempting it. “Later,” he told Gavroche, though not unkindly. “I have no time for another note from Grantaire telling me how much he misses my fine ass, and you should return to Grantaire and remind him that he no longer has the _princely_ authority to abuse pages.”

“You mean, kingly authority,” Courfeyrac said, a little faintly, looking torn between amusement and horror as he picked up a piece of paper from the stack of official documents he had been sorting through to help form the new government.

Enjolras frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Courfeyrac handed the piece of paper over, his tone almost somber as he reported, “According to this, when your father died, it wasn’t you who became the new king. It was Grantaire.”

“What?” Enjolras snapped, assuming Courfeyrac was playing some kind of elaborate trick on him, and he snatched the piece of paper from him.

His eyes widened as he scanned over what Courfeyrac confirmed out loud for everyone else in the room. “Based on the terms of Enjolras and Grantaire’s marriage, and because of Enjolras’s escape shortly thereafter, Enjolras’s father altered the laws of succession. And the moment Enjolras cut off his father’s head—”

“Grantaire became the new king,” Enjolras finished, rolling his eyes as he tossed the paper back onto the table. “So what? Grantaire doesn’t want to be king. This doesn’t change anything. We can move our plans forward for the new republic just the same.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Actually, we can’t. We need Grantaire to officially abdicate. Otherwise, at best we’re forming a treasonous collective. And besides that, there’s enough former nobles running around who would be more than happy to prop up Grantaire, and we can’t risk that. Not with the Republic so new.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Oh, he abdicates. Come on, you all know him -- there’s no way he’d hold onto this.” Everyone glanced around, shrugging and silent, and Enjolras heaved a sigh and glared up towards the ceiling. “Very well,” he said through clenched teeth. “Then someone needs to go fetch my husband.” Everyone exchanged glances again and a muscle worked in Enjolras’s jaw before he managed an amended, “I mean, someone needs to go request the presence the king.”

* * *

“I’ve got a treat for you!” Grantaire said, trying his best to hide the bloodstained rabbit carcass behind his back. Combeferre the dragon sniffed eagerly, lowering her huge muzzle to prod at Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire laughed. “First you have to tell me who’s the Combe-fairest in the land,” he teased.

The discovery that Combeferre the dragon was in fact female was quite a shock (Joly had seemed suitably traumatized after having to research dragon genetalia first-hand); the discovery that she refused to be called by any other name besides Combeferre, despite the confusion it caused, considerably less so. Grantaire had been spending a lot of time with Combeferre the Dragon (he occasionally referred to her as CTD for simplicity’s sake), partially because they had become good friends due to him searching her out and convincing her to fly to Enjolras’s aid, but also because Grantaire was doing his best to avoid Enjolras.

It wasn’t that he _wanted_ to avoid Enjolras -- he wanted nothing more than to spend every minute of every day with the man, and that hadn’t changed — so much as he knew that the last thing Enjolras needed at the moment was distractions when he had such important work to do.

Of course, as Grantaire had remarked a little darkly to Joly and Bossuet over their customary tankards of ale, he and Enjolras had important work to do on the little thing known as their marriage, but still. That wasn’t the point.

The point was that, for the moment, Grantaire was quite happy spending his time with the best dragon in the land while the best man in the land was otherwise occupied.

Combeferre the dragon nudged Grantaire again, making a snuffling noise as she tried to get at the rabbit. “Nuh-uh,” Grantaire laughed. “You didn’t say who was the Combe-fairest.”

“I sincerely hope you mean the dragon is the Combe-fairest, not me,” Combeferre said from the doorway to the dragon keep, his voice as dry as his expression when Grantaire glanced over.

As soon as Grantaire turned to look, CTD snatched the rabbit from Grantaire’s hands and swallowed it in one satisfied gulp before belching loudly. Grantaire laughed and patted her on the snout. “Sorry, but that title very obviously goes to the pretty lady over here.”

Combeferre shrugged as he stepped into the room. “I think I can live with that.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you, and I promise up front that this is not a joke, nor a trick, nor anything else you’re going to accuse me of in half a moment’s time.”

Grantaire’s hand stilled against CTD’s snout. “What is it?” he asked, his mouth dry, fearing the worst.

Combeferre took another deep breath. “You’re the king.”

Grantaire stared at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

* * *

“You’ve _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” Grantaire said as he stared around the Council chambers, where everyone, besides Enjolras, who was glaring at him from where he stubbornly stood, was on their knees. “Get up before I order all your damn executions.”

Courfeyrac was the first back on his feet, though he kept his head lowered as he murmured, “Your Majesty.”

Grantaire stared at him. “Come _on_ , guys, it’s _me_. I’m not a king. And I definitely don’t need the bowing and kneeling and ‘your majesty’ bullshit.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Except that, technically, you are the king, and the laws of propriety—”

“--Should not matter here, seeing as how we just fought to overthrow a king,” Enjolras snapped, still glaring at Grantaire as if this entire thing was his fault. “Which you should all remember. Grantaire isn’t a king, anymore than I am.”

Grantaire narrowed his eyes at him. “What do the laws say about the role of a prince consort to his king? Because I’m pretty sure I remember something about being silent and not speaking without permission.” Enjolras’s answering glare could have melted paint, and Grantaire smiled sweetly before turning back to Combeferre. “So you brought me here to abdicate the throne, correct?”

Enjolras actually made a hissing noise and Combeferre looked as if he was trying not to laugh as he responded smoothly, “Yes, that’s correct. We need your official declaration of abdication in order to proceed with any future plans for the new Republic.”

Grantaire tapped his chin thoughtfully, smiling almost lazily at Enjolras, who looked incensed. “So the entire future of this endeavor rests on me? Well, well, well, this _does_ change things.”

“How so?” Enjolras snapped.

Now the smile Grantaire gave him was wicked. “Because that means I can give certain conditions before I abdicate, now doesn’t it?”

Enjolras had to be physically restrained by Courfeyrac as Combeferre sighed, rolled his eyes, and asked tiredly, “What sort of conditions did you have in mind?”

“Let me call my advisors,” Grantaire said officiously, bending to look at the assembled documents on the table. “And then I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

* * *

Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Gavroche, who looked even more nervous than he had before. “Um,” Gavroche said. “King Grantaire has commanded your presence to go over his terms and conditions for abdicating.”

“Grantaire is not king,” Enjolras snapped. “And he shouldn’t be demanding terms and conditions for what he should have done the minute he discovered what my father had done.”

Instead of quaking under Enjolras’s glare, Gavroche instead glared right back at him. “Yeah, well, he’s paying me ten gold coins to fetch you, so unless you can top his offer, I’m gonna annoy you until you come with me.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him, amused in spite of himself. “With a threat like that, how can I resist?” He allowed Gavroche to lead him towards the Council chamber, though he added abruptly, “But I’m not bowing or any shit like that.”

“Oh, no worries,” Gavroche said brightly. “King Grantaire has forbidden bowing. Or calling him ‘king’. He gave me special permission because he reckons it’ll annoy you.” He gave Enjolras a cheeky grin. “And he seems to have been right.”

Enjolras glared at him, and then transferred his glare to Grantaire as they walked into the room. “You know, this kid might be almost as annoying as you.”

Grantaire shrugged languidly, grinning up at Enjolras from where he was lounging on a chair. “Maybe, but I’ve got a title and he doesn’t, so.”

Gavroche glared at him. “You told me I could be your Chancellor of the Exchequer,” he said accusingly.

“Kid, you don’t even know what that means,” Grantaire told him patiently. “Besides, at the end of the day, I will no longer be in the position to be handing out such lofty positions.”

“So you _are_ going to abdicate?” Enjolras asked, sitting in the empty seat at Grantaire’s right side, ignoring the obvious implications of what could easily be matching thrones with only a little imagination. “I’m not just here because you paid some ragamuffin to terrorize me?”

Combeferre cleared his throat and leaned forward from Grantaire’s other side. “Grantaire has agreed to abdicate the throne, with only two conditions, both of which the Council has heard and, frankly, agreed with. And to, pending your approval.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “Fine,” he said, a little grouchily. “What are they?”

Grantaire grinned at him. “The first one is easy,” he reassured him. “I want the protection of Combeferre the dragon to be ironclad so that she can never be used by the government as a weapon, at least without her express agreement.”

“Can Combeferre the dragon technically give her agreement?” Enjolras asked mildly.

On the other side of the room, Joly shuddered. “Trust me, if you don’t have her agreement, you’ll know about it.”

Grantaire allowed himself a laugh before he turned back to Enjolras, his smile fading and something close to worry flitting across his face. “The second is a bit more difficult, but aims at creating a more equitable government for all citizens.” He licked his lips before saying, a little nervously, “My second term is that no one previously included as a member of the aristocracy may be a part of the new government for at least ten years, at which time they must run for a position.”

Enjolras stared at him. “You mean me,” he said, a little hollowly.

“The provision calls for all former members of the aristocracy,” Combeferre said quickly, but Enjolras ignored him.

“You don’t want me to be a part of the new government — for _ten_ years?” His voice rose to a dangerous level. “You’re _that_ desperate to — what — keep me for yourself? Hold me hostage to guarantee my affection?”

“Excuse me?” Grantaire said, his voice dangerously quiet, and it was somehow worse than Enjolras’s shouting. “Even if I thought that such a simple act would tie you down, you think that I would want to spend the next ten years knowing that you were only with me because as a king — as that which you despise — I decreed it? Have you that little faith in me?” Enjolras shook his head, still seething, and Grantaire continued, as if no one else was in the room besides the two of them, “I love you. And I have given you every opportunity to divorce me, if that was what you so choose, and you have, for reasons beyond my comprehension, chosen not to do so. But I have also spent the afternoon poring over these.” He pointed at the stack of papers compiled from all of Enjolras and Les Amis’ efforts. “And the one thing I see over and over is a guaranteed place for you, and for those just like you, and what kind of message do you think that sends to our people, the people we fought for — the people Jean Prouvaire died for?”

Enjolras flinched but Grantaire carried on. “Your affection has never been guaranteed. And perhaps it’s time mine wasn’t as well. Because the man I fell in love with would not hesitate to notice and immediately rectify such blatant inequality being written into the government he fought to create.”

With that said, he stood, looking for the moment as regal as a true king. “Those are my terms,” he said, a little stiffly. “I leave you to discuss them. If you accept, come find me, and my oath of abdication is yours for the taking.”

Then, without looking at Enjolras, he swept out of the room, leaving stunned silence in his wake.

* * *

“So, what do you think, Ferre-y-godmother?” Grantaire sighed, scratching CTD’s chin, smiling slightly as she half-closed her eyes and made a pleased rumble. “Do you think I completely fucked things up and lost Enjolras forever?”

“Well, maybe not forever,” Enjolras said, unsmiling, though at least he didn’t sound as furious as Grantaire might’ve expected.

Grantaire sat up, ignoring Combeferre’s displeased noise when Grantaire stopped scratching her chin. “You’re here,” he said, a little stupidly. “Does that mean…”

He trailed off, unwilling or unable to finish his thought, and Enjolras shrugged. “I certainly don’t appreciate being held hostage over something like this,” he said stiffly, clearly annoyed, though his voice softened as he added, however reluctantly, “But you were right.”

“I beg your pardon?” Grantaire asked, staring at him.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I said you were right,” he snapped. “Don’t make me say it a third time or I might take it back.” Grantaire blinked innocently at him and mimed locking his mouth, and Enjolras rolled his eyes again before elaborating, “When it comes to the type of government that I want to build for this nation and for its people, you were right in that I got so caught up in what could be that I forgot to think about what _should_ be. So against perhaps my better judgement on every level, the Council has agreed to accept your terms, with my approval and indeed, my recommendation.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So where does that leave us?”

Enjolras made a face before saying sardonically, “I’ve come to ask Your Majesty to please surrender your throne so that we can get on with creating a government for the people.”

“No, where does that leave _us_?” Grantaire asked impatiently.

Enjolras stared flatly at him. “Abdicate first, and then we can continue that conversation.”

For a moment, Grantaire stared at him, then rolled his eyes before saying, as solemnly as he could muster, “I, King Grantaire, First of His Name, formally abdicate my throne in favor of a Republic for the People, by the People, for all eternity — long may the People reign.”

Enjolras made a whimpering noise and surged forward to kiss Grantaire, pulling him close as he did. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against Grantaire’s before confessing, a little breathlessly, “I never realized how hot that would sound.”

Grantaire laughed. “You’re a very weird man,” he told him before adding, a little hesitantly, “But I love you. Still.”

“And I love you still as well,” Enjolras said solemnly, reaching up to cup Grantaire’s cheek. “And I promise, once the government is up and running, without me as a part of it, we’ll fix our relationship next and ensure equality for both of us.”

Grantaire grinned and kissed him again. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Enjolras kissed him for a long moment before telling him, “You know, you still have to repeat your abdication in front of the whole Council.”

Laughing, Grantaire kissed Enjolras once more before weaving their fingers firmly together. “If it’ll get the same results as before, I promise you, I will do it as many times as you want me to.”

And together they left to formally end any ties either man had to the previous government, which, to them at least, was far more romantic than it sounds.

As to whether they lived happily ever after, well...

Imagine, perhaps, Enjolras mounting his first campaign for representative, taking the government to task for not listening enough to its people. Imagine Grantaire standing by his side throughout, beaming with pride and only occasionally pecking him on the cheek and running to check on Combeferre the dragon, who’s just laid her first brood of eggs. Imagine Grantaire helping Combeferre raise those dragon babies, to the point where they consider Grantaire — and to a certain degree, Enjolras — as their fathers. Imagine what they together can accomplish in the new republic, and with each other. Imagine all the things that they wanted to do in their lives, and imagine them doing it.

And then imagine one day, many, many years later, Enjolras rolling over in bed to brush his fingers lightly across Grantaire’s cheek. “How are you this morning?” he’ll ask, just as he has every day for as long as either can remember, their wrinkles and gray hair testament to the ages.

And Grantaire will smile at him, a smile as sweet as ever he gave. “Happy,” he’ll reply, simply, before leaning in to kiss Enjolras.

And they will be.


End file.
